


Peace

by jujubiest



Series: SPN Finale Fix-Its [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fix-It, Jack Fixes It, M/M, Post-Canon, Spoilers up to 15x20, fuck the finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28006599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: Dean Winchester is in Heaven, but is he at peace? He isn't even sure he knows what peace would feel like.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: SPN Finale Fix-Its [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051256
Comments: 13
Kudos: 63





	Peace

**Author's Note:**

> I've now written three different fix-its for that godawful finale and will probably write more. If I were to assign a stage of grief to each of them, this one would be anger. Dean deserved better, and I'm going to give it to him. This fic is probably also my least favorite of my own fix-its, because it treats the finale as though it exists.

It takes time. So much time...enough for Sam to catch up to Dean after a nice, long life.

But Sam did live that life, and he has connections other than Dean, now. People he wants to spend all the time with that earth never quite gives us. So Dean isn't alone very often, but. Enough that he feels it. Enough that he notices the empty spaces in his paradise, shadows from the life he never got to live.

It sounds ridiculous, to think he could wait so long. He can’t explain it to himself. It’s like leaving a message unsent so long you’re no longer sure if it—or you—would still be relevant. He keeps thinking he’ll hear those tell-tale wingbeats one day, when he least expects it. But it never happens, and the more he wants it, the more afraid he is of it. Afraid in paradise, what are the odds.

So yes, it takes time. Too much. But eventually...Dean swallows his pride and his fear, on one of those long stretches when he’s alone, and calls for him.

He doesn't know if he's expecting an answer or not. He doesn't even know what he hopes for, only that he’s afraid to hope for anything. But he feels the knot in his stomach tighten further when he hears that familiar sound.

"Hello, Dean." That voice makes him close his eyes, love and fear and pain and regret, three out of four things that don’t belong here, just like Dean himself never has. "I was hoping you would call, when you arrived. But I had also hoped you wouldn't arrive here so...soon."

His voice sounds sad. Dean shrugs, uncomfortable, because wasn’t that exactly what he was just thinking about? What he’s been thinking about this whole time? That he got here too soon. That peace eludes him because...because...

"I guess it was only a matter of time, right?" He deflects, like he always has.

He thinks of Sam, living his long life on earth and dying old and gray, with a kid and decades of happy memories. Thinks of how Dean has no place in that part of his life except as a painful memory, because he wasn’t there. Because he died _so young_. He pushes it away with a resilience born of too much practice.

"I was never gonna be the one to get old. I always knew that."

_Self-fulfilling prophecy_ , his mind whispers. He ignores it and takes a drink of his beer, still cold even after resting in his hand for half an hour, maybe longer. He chose this place because he thought it would be easier here, the way all of their easiest moments seemed to happen sitting hunched over tables in anonymous small-town diners and bars. But it’s not quite working, because he can feel the pulse of Heaven thrumming behind everything, even the carefully-crafted dilapidation of exposed wooden beams and dusty scuffed floors, smoky air, kitschy neon signs on the walls.

Nothing feels real here. Nothing feels _right_. Time is strange, everything is good, but. Too good, sometimes. Too easy, and it rankles until he wonders what's wrong with him. He knows he should be...happy, or at least content. But there's a lack of dimension in heaven. A flat, softly glowing quality that he doesn't trust.

He feels like a rat in a cage here, and it's slowly driving him mad.

"Dean..." Cas's voice is filled with angelic concern that rankles. "Are you at peace?"

It doesn’t sound like _his_ Cas. It sounds like _Castiel_ , when they first met. It’s the same tone of voice he used the first time they met: compassion gifted from so far above where he stands. _What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved._

Dean shakes his head as he takes another drink, unsure how to answer the question.

"I'm...I'm tryin' to be, okay?" He finally settles for. Castiel doesn't answer, and Dean finally turns to look at him. He's prepared for the gut-punch of that first look, but only just. It's not enough to double him over, but it's enough that he has to turn away again almost immediately. He _looks_ wrong, too. Too perfect. His Cas had grown older, somehow, in the years they spent standing uncertainly at each other’s shoulders. All his sharp angles had softened. It was the face of a father, a friend...not a lover, not quite. But he could have been. If Dean had known. If…

He shakes himself, tries to focus on this conversation he’s waited so long for. He keeps getting lost, it seems, pulled under by his own maudlin thoughts.

"I'm not really sure what peace feels like, to be honest." He takes another swig of his too-perfect beer.

"Dean," Dean wishes he would stop saying his name like that—with a gentleness he knows he doesn't deserve. "Whatever you need. All you have to do is ask."

Whatever he needs? What he needs is...he takes a deep breath. _Okay. Okay._

"Okay, Cas...what I need? I need to know why. Why did you wait until you were about to die on me? Huh? Why would you...I know why you did what you did, but why..."

_Why did you leave me? Why did you have to love something so broken? Why did you let me destroy you?_

The last isn't quite a prayer, but it isn't not one, and something about the quality of Cas's silence makes Dean think he must have heard. He makes himself turn around, steeled this time for the sight of that face.

Cas looks surprised, like he never expected Dean to bring it up again. Dean's a little surprised himself, and he hates that. This is heaven, and he still can't just...be _honest_.

But he can get angry, apparently. And that feels familiar. It feels true the way so many things about this place don't, so. That's what he does.

"When did Jack get you out?" His voice is soft, but he knows Cas hears the anger underneath when he looks away, doesn't answer.

"When, Cas?" _Tell me._

Cas forces himself to look Dean in the eye.

"Right after Chuck. After Jack left you and Sam."

Dean thought as much, but it hurts to hear Cas confirm it. It hurts to see the way Cas's eyes slide away from his, as though he can't stand to look at him. He looks poised to fly. Dean turns away from the sight, unwilling to watch him disappear again.

"Why didn't you come find me, man? We...I..."

_Needed you_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't say it. Can't say it, can't even admit to that, here in heaven, where everything should finally be easy. Where he should be at peace with himself, with what he wants, if nothing else.

He turns back and hates the relief he feels when he sees that Cas is still standing there, though still not looking at him. He advances, letting the anger do what courage can't, and Cas doesn't move away, but. He still doesn't meet Dean's eyes.

"Why is it every time I think we're finally going to figure this...this thing out, I turn around and you're gone? There's always somethin' and you're never _here_. Why can't you ever just..."

Cas does look at him then, finally. And Dean is surprised to see a spark of answering anger in his eyes. _Yes_ , Dean thinks, desperately. He clings to that. At least it's an emotion, and one he understands intimately. Better than forgiveness. Better than understanding. Better than...than anything else Cas has ever offered him.

"What, Dean," Cas says, acid in his tone. "Why can't I ever what? What do you want from me?"

Somehow that...wasn't what Dean was expecting him to say.

"What?"

"You want answers? So do I. Why won't you ever just ask for what you want?"

Cas is angry, but he's also pleading with him. And that? Dean can't handle that. He starts to turn away, but Cas's hand on his shoulder stops him. It's like an electric jolt, that hand. Dean stops, stares at Cas, speechless.

"You tell me you need me. You say the world is broken and it needs fixing. And all I have _ever_ tried to do was fix it for you. Make up for my own mistakes...make a world where you could find peace. You needed someone to be on your side, I was on your side. You needed a friend, I was your friend, always. You needed to know you were made for more than killing, I wrote you an affidavit signed in blood. I may not have been there every second, but when you needed someone who would never abandon you? I never did. I always came back.”

He has his hands in the lapels of Dean’s jacket, holding tight, but there’s still such a distance between them.

“All I've _ever_ tried to do is be what you need. What more do you _want_?"

"I..." Everything he says is true, but it feels so wrong, somehow. Dean can't imagine Cas ever saying these things to him, even if he deserves it. But...

"What? You can't say it? Even now?” Castiel laughs, and he looks more like _Cas_ now, but the wrong Cas. A chill runs up Dean’s spine. “It's the _end_ , Dean. There will never be another time. Your life, your short, precious human life is over, gone, and you still can't ask for the things you want. You're still not at peace! Why?"

And something in that earnest voice and those pleading eyes, even in this not-quite-right version of Cas that he can’t help but be suspicious of...it breaks him. He pushes himself away from Cas’s hands.

"I...I always thought I'd have time, man. I always thought you'd come back, and we'd have time. And when you didn't, I...I just did what was easiest, I guess. And fuck...I never...I got forty-one years. Only one year more than I spent in Hell. Isn't that messed up? Forty-one years.” There are tears in his eyes and he blinks them away, only succeeds in sending them trailing down his cheeks, burning-hot lines of grief.

“And now I have all the time and all the space and all the peace I could want, I have my parents, I have Sam, and. And I...I don't know what to do with it! I guess I never learned how to just...be. How am I supposed to know what to do with my afterlife when I never got to have a _life_? I gave everything...everything to everybody else. I never thought I deserved to keep anything for myself, and now it's too late. I wasted it. I..."

He trails off, his throat to choked for words, _I wasted it_ lingering in the air between them. He feels hollowed out, like all that was left to him was that terrible truth: that even here in heaven, with everything—almost everything—he could ever want, Dean Winchester still doesn’t know how to be at peace.

Castiel looks at him with compassion mingled with pain. He looks more like the Cas Dean remembers, but something still isn’t quite right and it needles at Dean even through the whirlwind of his own pain.

"Did you ever give yourself time here...time to grieve for the life you lost?"

Dean laughs, but it comes out sounding more like a sob.

"Fuck. No." Cas nods, a familiar gesture that nevertheless doesn't quite belong to him.

"I told you, Dean. All you have to do is ask for what you want."

Dean looks at him.

"Yeah? If that were true, then...I'd wanna _live_ , Cas. And I'd want...I'd want you with me."

Cas smiles, and Dean is struck—not for the first time—with how much he and Jack look alike, even though they're not technically blood.

Then he frowns. It's not Cas standing in front of him anymore at all. It's...

"Jack? What—"

Jack smiles, equal parts satisfied and apologetic.

"I needed you to ask," he says with a little half-shrug. "Hands off, remember? And you did, finally. So come on!"

He reaches out before Dean can form a coherent sentence or catch up with the program. He wants to ask where's Cas, what the hell Jack thinks he was doing. But Jack's hand is on his arm, and he blinks, and...

They're standing in the street. As in _the_ street. The last place they saw Jack before he left to take his place as the new god. Sam is beside him, looking shell-shocked and glassy-eyed. Dean looks between them, confused.

"Sammy?" he asks. "Jack, what is this?"

Jack smiles in that sheepish-hopeful way he has, like he thinks he might get in trouble but is hoping they'll just be amused. It...Dean doesn't know what to do with the fact that their child is god but still such a _kid_ in every possible way.

"I promised I'd be hands-off, and I meant it. But..." He looks around them, at the people milling by, going about their lives, oblivious. "I'm connected to everything. I can feel it all. And I knew you weren't happy. Neither of you, not really."

He looks at Sam, and in that moment he's all god, no child at all.

"You did what you thought you were supposed to do. You moved on, tried to have a normal life. I understand. But it never quite felt real or right, did it." It isn’t a question.

"No," Sam breathes, barely above a whisper. "No, it...it didn't."

Jack turns to Dean.

"And you just kept walking the same path, never asking yourself what you wanted. Did you think you couldn't have it? Or that you didn't deserve it."

And here at last: The Truth. Dean can't tear his eyes away from Jack as he chokes out.

"I...honestly, kid? Both. I never thought I could...and then, after everything, I didn't..."

"I know," Jack says gently. "It's okay, Dean. Sam."

He opens his hands, as though to indicate everything around them.

"You have a choice here. I can take you both back. To heaven. Give you the space to find peace in your endings, in whatever way you can. Or I can wipe your memories, and let you go on from here. Maybe you'll make different choices, maybe you won't. But it's a chance. Or..."

And here, he looks pointedly at Dean.

"Or I can give you something else you want." He smiles softly, and suddenly he's their child again. Dean's heart aches. "All you have to do is ask.”

Sam speaks up before Dean has the chance.

"Take my memories," he blurts, as though the words were torn from him. Dean stares at him, but Jack just nods. Understanding.

"Yes," he says. Then he turns back to Dean, waiting.

Dean takes a very long moment. Then he says...

"Cas. Can you—?" He can’t finish the sentence. He can’t bear to ask for it and hear that it can’t be done.

But Jack smiles, a full smile this time, pure joy.

"Done," he says. He tilts his head slightly. "He'll be in the bunker, right where you left him."

Dean feels a soaring feeling in his chest. He's suddenly itching to get in the car and start driving, back to the bunker—back _home_ —as fast as he can.

But he makes himself wait. He looks at Jack.

"Kid...I know you have to be...hands-off. I know you can't come back and be the way things were before. But...if you could..."

"Come visit?" Jack interrupts, eager. Dean finally lets himself smile back, his insides rearranging themselves around this new feeling he’s trying to learn to feel.

“Yeah,” he says, wondering if this is the beginning of understanding what contentment feels like.

"I'd like that,” Jack says. “I will, I promise."

"Fantastic," Dean says. And he means it. He turns to look at Sam, who looks torn and sad but resolute.

"You sure about this, Sammy?" He knows what Sam is giving up, what he's leaving behind. He thinks he knows why, too. But he'll never ask, and soon Sam won't be able to tell him.

Sam nods. He turns to Jack.

"When will I—?"

"You'll fall asleep on the way home," Jack says gently. "When you wake up, it will be done."

Sam nods shakily.

"I'll see you both soon," Jack promises again. "Tell Cas I said hi."

Then he's gone with another sweet smile and a wave of his hand, god and child at once. Dean turns to his brother, and they walk back to the car. It's going to be a long drive home, but at the end of it...

_Peace_ , Dean thinks. Real peace, at last.


End file.
